


Dandelion Wine

by beautysupreme



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Apologies, Canon Divergent Fix-it, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Implied past vandermatthews, M/M, drabblesoup, fluffy outlaws, poor coping mechanisms, romanticized recollections, unrelated and loosely related shorts, vandermorgan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26378719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautysupreme/pseuds/beautysupreme
Summary: The flowers reminded Arthur of their first bank job. He had bought dandelion wine with his share as they passed through a nowhere town, already drunk on adrenaline and so in love with Dutch.The older man had ignored his advances early on but after consoling Arthur through the raging self doubts spawned from Mary's rejection, Dutch allowed him to taste him and he had been sweeter than any wine; filling Arthur with a concupiscent thirst that swallowed up his youth.He was now well past that youthful naivety and still consumed by desire for the man, despite his efforts to quell it. He still fought the urge to steal the man's laundry, sweat soaked shirts and dirty pillowcases no match for his thieving hands.------------------A collection of romanticized shorts and drabbles.Some are smutty, some are just accounts of innocent affection. Some compliment one another or a stand alone fic, some are juxtapositions. Some are sensical, some not so much.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde, Arthur Morgan/Lyndon Monroe, Past Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde (implied)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 25





	1. Dandelion Wine

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing has taken over my list of works so this was done to shorten it and so I have a place to post short not-so-explicit drabbles I wouldn't normally post as individual fics :)
> 
> This first short references the flashback chapter of Ouroboros.

Arthur laid among the dandelions, already spent as Dutch finished rutting into him, feeling the warmth of the man's seed spill inside him. The man collapsed on top of him, kissing his jawline and behind his ear before rolling off. He laid on his back, taking Arthur's hand in his as they looked up at breaking dawn. They were in the field by Clemens Point, past the destroyed relics of manor houses and crumbling stone walls. The sunrise painted the sky in an array of pinks and oranges, soon to give way to a solidary shade of pale blue.

A soft wind bellowed through the field, singing through the daisies and dandelions. The flowers reminded him of their first bank job. He had bought dandelion wine with his share as they passed through a nowhere town, already drunk on adrenaline and so in love with Dutch. 

The older man had ignored his advances early on but after consoling Arthur through the raging self doubts spawned from Mary's rejection, Dutch allowed him to taste him and he had been sweeter than any wine; filling Arthur with a concupiscent thirst that swallowed up his youth.

He was now well past that youthful naivety and still consumed by desire for the man, despite his efforts to quell it. He still fought the urge to steal the man's laundry, sweat soaked shirts and dirty pillowcases no match for his thieving hands; token sentiments of the first time Dutch had taken him. 

_It was before their falling out with the O'Driscolls and three long days filled with anxiety had passed since Dutch left to explore a lead with a few of Colm's men. Arthur found himself longing for the other man, sneaking into his empty tent and wrapping himself in his sheets. His mind replayed Dutch's confession that night in the hotel after the Lee and Hoyt robbery, "I feel like I have to choose between wanting you and loving you."_

_Arthur had felt the sincerity of the divulgence, emotional pain evident on the man's face. Arthur had been greedy, asking for both. He inhaled the scent of the other man, committing it to memory; It was comfort and safety. It was home._

_He had fallen asleep for a few hours, waking aroused with Dutch's scent all around him, breathing him in as images of the man flickered through his mind. The sheets were soft against his skin, like the delicate touch of fingers ghosting over his body, leaving his nipples hard as he writhed in the cot and drug the linen slowly over his skin. He wondered how often Dutch laid in this very spot, thinking of him - did he touch himself? Arthur's hand ventured downward and he thought of Dutch's ringed fingers._

_He heard the fabric of the tent rustle and bit down on his lip as Dutch ducked in, disheveled and already undressing, as if manifested from sheer desire. The older man paused at the sight of him, his face unreadable for a moment. Fear of dismissal jutted through Arthur for a brief moment before he saw a smirk lift the corner of Dutch's mouth as he looked him up and down. His voice was rough from disuse, even deeper than normal, sending a shiver of desire through him; he called Arthur a gift, all wrapped up in his sheets and just for him._

Dutch made love to him for the first time that night; a culmination of all the love, understanding, patience, and compassion Dutch had bestowed on him through the years solidified in a physical act. 

So much time had passed since those early years Arthur found himself still longing for; when it was just Dutch, Hosea, and him. Before there was any type of hierarchy. He had noticed how Dutch had withdrawn further into himself as their gang grew, more and more with each relocation of camp, and with each lost member of their family. He knew the man carried the weight of all that responsibility on his shoulders but he didn't know how to ease his burden. He saw how Molly tried and how Dutch hated it, turning cold and abrasive in response to her constant concern. So he avoided breaching the subject but even still, he could feel Dutch pulling away from him too. He wasn't sure if it had to do with the Pinkertons by the Dakota or if Dutch was trying to brace himself for the possibility of losing him as well. 

After healing from his recent run-in with the O'Driscolls, he had fallen into a dark maze of suspicion, lamenting on Dutch's speech during the ride to meet Colm. It had come across as insincere and rehearsed, so awfully so that Arthur had called him on it at the time. As he laid confined to his cot, he wondered if the whole thing had been orchestrated by Dutch and Micah to write him off as a loose end, recalling how Dutch had looked at him when he asked why he hadn't taken the Pinkertons' offer.

But Dutch had issued at least one hundred apologies for his foolishness. He hadn't trusted the sincerity in any of them but he did trust Hosea who told him Dutch had been a frantic mess, hiding it at first but quickly becoming unraveled as the day wore on. Charles had even made mention that just before Arthur collapsed into camp, Dutch had spoken to him in confidence about riding out together to track him. He knew it may have all been for show to avoid suspicion from anyone else in camp, but he let himself be satisfied with it, clinging to his memories of the man Dutch once was, romanticized or not.

Then Dutch's hand squeezed his and affectionately brushed his thumb over his bruised knuckles. He shifted to his side and leaned over Arthur, plucking one of the dandelions and tucking it in his hair. Arthur smirked at the ridiculousness of it. Dutch adjusted his clothes before he lit a cigar and leaned back to enjoy the sunrise in Arthur's company. 

Arthur retrieved his journal from his satchel and rested the back of his head on Dutch's thigh. He held the book up to awkwardly sketch a dandelion; A tiny arborglyph of "A&D" etched on its stem.


	2. Metanoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergence ending where Captain Monroe saves the day. Also a super rare appearance by Dr. Alphonse Renauld.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be the end of a chaptered Dutch/Arthur/Monroe fic based on Arthur falling in love with Captain Monroe after the Honor Amongst Thieves mission. However, I didn't think there would be much, if any, interest and I'm too lazy, y'all (hence why most of my fics are pwp). 
> 
> I still have it in the back of my mind so if I get some down time it may come to fruition.

"Mr. Morgan?"

Arthur heard a familiar voice call out to him from the tree line and then heard the calamity ensue. Bill was tackling someone to the ground as Javier aimed a repeater at the intruder. Dutch eyed him as they both hurried toward the commotion. 

"Looks like you have a gentleman caller, Morgan." Bill sneered as he picked the man up. Arthur's face twisted in confusion as he looked over the man, unsure what he was doing in Beaver Hollow or how he knew where to find him.

"Captain Monroe?"

"This a friend of yours, Arthur?" Dutch rounded the man, flicking his eyes over to Arthur, making no attempt to hide his suspicion.

"We're acquainted."

"I'm sure you are."

Arthur forced the man away from Bill's vice grip, ignoring the venom seething from Dutch. He walked the man to his cot, where he nervously eyed the momentos tacked to the side of the wagon. 

"Why are you here? You're supposed to be on a goddamn train far away from this shit hole." The words were hissed more harshly than Arthur intended, but the man looked over at him seemingly unphased.

"The army accosted the train and I had to make a run for it. It would seem I'm now just as much an outlaw as you, Mr. Morgan."

"You've been dealt a rough hand, but we ain't on the same page and you certainly don't belong here."

"You're right, I'm worse off. Labeled a deserter and traitor by the US military. What's the situation here? Things seem tense."

"I'm afraid it's long passed tense, Captain Monroe."

"Please...just _Mister_ Monroe - or Lyndon."

"As you wish, Mr. Monroe. Now," Arthur clapped the man on the back and placed his other hand on his chest, "I reckon it best you head north to Canada. You'll need a horse. You can take one of mine as I won't be able to tend them much longer."

"Mr. Morgan," Monroe glanced around camp before leaning in close, voice kept low to avoid prying ears, "You could come with me. If not Canada then Mexico...for your condition."

Arthur offered the man an appreciative smile. Not very long ago, he would have chosen Dutch without so much as a second thought but now the offer was tempting. He still chose John, Jack, Abigail and the women's well being over his own, just as much a tendril of loyalty Dutch had wrapped around him, pulling him down with the sinking ship. 

"I have people to look after."

"I understand. I'll be in Annesburg a few days to gather supplies. The offer will always stand."

He guided Monroe to the horses. The man gave him one last look as he mounted the steed. They nodded a brief goodbye and the former soldier took off up the trail leading North. 

He choked back a cough that was seizing his airway, waiting for the man to disappear around the bend before grabbing the hitching post for support as he doubled over. He had hoped to feel Dutch's hand on his back to offer comfort, even if insincere, but he couldn't even get that.

* * *

Arthur glanced around the camp, his whole world on fire. Smoke was seeping into his lungs, causing him to bury his face in the crook of his elbow in a feeble attempt to block it. The fire was raging through the camp, destroying everything; a physical representation of Dutch's paranoia.

"Mr. Morgan!" 

Arthur was surprised to hear Monroe on the trail by the camp, horse rearing and snorting in protest of its proximity to the flames. 

He was tackled to the ground, Micah's body heavy on his diminishing one. He managed to throw him off, scrambling to his feet as the snake of a man circled him, brandishing a knife. Before he could get the first swipe in, a shot rang out. Micah roared, cradling his maimed hand. Arthur sprinted toward Monroe, tying the sack of cash from the cave to the saddle. He took Monroe's hand, climbing on the back of the horse.

He was heaving, slumped against the man's back. He saw Dutch but was too exhausted and heartbroken to say anything to him, but how he wanted to scream and curse his name.

"Arthur…"

His body was trying to produce enough adrenaline to give him strength to push Monroe from the horse if Dutch reached for his revolvers. The man didn't. He was too busy waging some internal conflict with himself but Arthur wasn't certain if the look on his face was remorse over the realization of his actions or something dark. 

"I gave you all I had, Dutch." 

"Don't leave me, son."

He sounded distant, the words ghost like and mournful. As much as Arthur's heart ached for him, he couldn't be sure how fleeting this momentary sanity would be.

"I don't want to - all I ever wanted was you - but I have to."

He felt his chest tighten as a sob caught in his throat, ushering forth a painful coughing fit. Monroe gave the horse a firm jolt and they tore away from Beaver Hollow.

When they were miles from the camp, Monroe eased the horse into a steady trot, navigating them off the road. As the man dismounted, gravity claimed Arthur. Monroe barely caught him as he fell from the horse. Arthur let the man help him to a seated position on the ground, his chest heaving as he fought for air. 

As if by some God send, a familiar wagon slowed on the road and a man cautiously approached. Monroe braced himself, hand splayed by his gun. Arthur didn't particularly care any longer.

"Why, it's you! You retrieved my wagon from those miscreants down in Rhodes."

It was none other than Alphonse Renauld. Arthur nodded weakly as another coughing fit took over, causing him to double over, digging his fingers into the dirt he wasn't long for.

"Can you help him?" 

Monroe's voice was bordering desperate as he glanced from Arthur to the wagon.

"For the time being, yes," The doctor hurried back to the coach, calling back to them as he gathered a handful of syringes and jars, "I have steroids and medicinal herbs. You really shouldn't be in this climate. Or out at all, truth be told."

Renauld hurried over, quickly administering the shot.

"We're on our way to Mexico."

"I see. I'm afraid this is all I have on me. You can have it all. I will send you more through the post when I replenish my supplies."

"Thank you," Arthur rasped, his airways slowly expanding from the steroid.

"You are more than welcome. I'll be in Blackwater. Write to me there with your address."

After Dr. Renauld left, they packed the syringes, vials, and herbal remedies he had given them. They continued on, chartering a boat through Flat Iron Lake and into Mexico.

In the weeks that followed, Arthur sent letters to various Tacitus Kilgores across Lemoyne, Ambarino, and New Hanover. Tacitus J. Kilgore for John, Tacitus T. Kilgore for Tilly, Tacitus S. Kilgore for Sadie, Tacitus C. Kilgore for Charles. He let them know he was alright and wished them well in their new lives; leaving out any pertinent information on his whereabouts should the letters be intercepted by the law, the Pinkertons, or Dutch. 

He had drafted numerous letters to Dutch, his hands now stained more with ink than gun oil. Lyndon had been kind and patient with him, far more than he knew he deserved. But each letter left him heart broken and full of self hatred, realizing he still cared for the fool of a man after everything. 

They were both fools.


	3. Pretty Horse Smugglers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang heads to the east coast to smuggle imported mustangs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the wild horses in Corolla, NC :)

By 1892 the Van der Linde gang, if you could call them such, consisting only of Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, John, Bill, Susan, Karen, Abigail, and infant Jack, were camped on the east coast chasing a lead on Spanish mustangs. The small beasts were originally brought to the banks in the 1600s and after a medical breakthrough in 1891, they were highly sought after by chemists for their hooves. Stock laws and protections made the horses a black market item, driving prices exponentially.

Arthur watched crabs scuttle along the beach toward welks lining the squelching wet sand of the foreshore. He nudged a starfish with his boot. It was just after midnight and the tide was low. 

He felt a hand on his arm, quickly recognizing Dutch's touch by the firm pressure and the way he affectionately squeezed his shoulder, ever so slightly. The man stepped beside him, offering a bottle of whiskey. He readily accepted it. Dutch's hand slipped down and rested on the small of his back. He took a swig as he relaxed into the familiar touch, comfortable with their distance from the others. 

"It's like time isn't it?" He glanced over at Dutch, but the man was looking out into the darkness of the horizon. _Here we go._ He took a drink, listening to the man's voice blend with the waves, "The ocean goes on as far as the eye can see. And time...time is infinite, even though we can't see it past our own demise. Some can't even see past the here and now."

"You've been reading too many philosophy books... _again_." He chuckled at the man, smiling to himself as he prodded the starfish once more, content the thing was dead from being out of its environment, swallowed up in change it couldn't adapt to.

"If you're not in the mood for a little enlightened conversation, just what _are_ you in the mood for?" 

Dutch smirked as he pressed his fingertips further along the dip of Arthur's spine. 

"I think 'enlightened' is a little conceited, don't you?"

"Every day you sound more and _more_ like Hosea," Dutch's voice was light, hinting at amusement under his irritation, "So tell me, since you're now an esteemed word smith, what would you call it?"

"Pretty. Nothing more."

"You say it like it's an insult! I believe I've a different definition of that word. This night, the sound of the ocean, you. All _pretty_...in their own right."

Arthur's brows knitted together and he scoffed, unsure if Dutch was complimenting or insulting him. Perhaps a little of both. He knew the pillow talk Dutch lavished on him when they were alone was just that; _pretty_. Nothing more. Nothing of _substance_.

Even still, he didn't protest when Dutch kissed him. He opened his mouth and their lips and tongues began to overlap. He wondered how much of their relationship was just pretty words and faux gestures but he would take what praise he could get from the man, hungry for it all the same and unsure just why; his love and loyalty as vast as the stretch of ocean and sense of self preservation and inhibitions lost somewhere in the ebbing tides of truth.

  



	4. Amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know I've made many mistakes but you...Arthur...you was never one of 'em."
> 
> A kinda-sorta fix-it canon-divergent ending to Chapter 6.  
> Mentions of former Vandermatthews.
> 
> TW: Grief, dealing with death, poor coping mechanisms.

Dutch leaned back as the younger man hovered over him, Arthur’s hands gripping his thighs.

“I think you need a distraction of your own...Lemme get you out of your head a bit...Show you just how loyal I am.”

Arthur felt his stomach tighten when Dutch didn’t move to caress his cheek or touch him at all, a direct contrast to their previous endeavors. It felt wrong. It twisted his memories of their intimacy. He wanted to stop but Ms. Grimshaw and Tilly’s words plagued him. _You have to say something, do something, Arthur. You'll steer Dutch in the right direction, I know you will_."

“What are you doing, son?”

Dutch knew Arthur was never this flirtatious or forward. He was trying to distract him from something or gain his trust back. His expression darkening at the feeling of being misled. How could Arthur take advantage of the intimacy he'd allowed him? Of his trust? His love? How could he be so ungrateful? He had once seen his relationship with Arthur as pure, a strong redwood he poured so much love into that it towered over all else. Now it was a twisted thing that had sucked all the life from the soil.

“Dutch…”

The crack of the younger man’s voice tore him from his thoughts; desperate and sad.The man had never been a good actor. This was real.

“I just…" Arthur released a heavy sigh, letting go of his ego, "I want things to be how they were...I...I miss you. I don’t know how to make things better.”

“Son…I’ll forgive anything you’ve done. I just...you need to tell me now.”

Arthur’s brow’s furrowed, confusion and anger warping his face. 

“You think I betrayed you? You think I’m the rat? Is that what Micah convinced you? You think I’d do that to you after all we’ve been through?”

“I don’t know anymore, Arthur. Would you?”

“No.”

He pulled away to leave, no longer interested in trying. Dutch grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to him, voice harsh and venomous.

“Then what was all this?”

“It was me trying to mend whatever’s going on in your head between us but I can see there’s no point in that.”

Dutch bit the inside of his lip as he watched the man tear out of the tent, marching to his cot across the camp. Regret seized his chest as he replayed Arthur’s emotional statement in his head. He was tired. Tired of being suspicious. Tired of being overwhelmed. Tired of being cold to Arthur. Tired of all the voices put in his head by Micah. He pinched the bridge of his nose, resolving to swallow his pride and apologize. He rose from his cot and pushed back the flap of his tent, quickly accosted by Micah.

“Boss, we need to talk,” Micah gripped his shoulder, softly guiding him back to the tent. Dutch jerked his arm up, breaking the his hold. The man had become far too comfortable treating him as an equal to gain leverage. He saw that now. He had needed someone to fill Hosea's place as his moral compass and unfortunately only the least qualified had stepped into that role. He knew Hosea was cursing him from beyond the grave if there were such a thing.

“Not now.”

“Time is of the essence - “

“Not. Now.”

The words were a sneer, his eyes staring the man down to ensure he left his sight as he continued toward Arthur’s wagon. He approached carefully, Arthur’s back turned to him and his breathing rapid. Then he heard the pained, wheezy sobs. He had caused this. He looked around him at the state of the camp. He had caused all of this. Without Hosea to guide him and speak sense to him, he was an utter failure; to Arthur, to their family, to their code. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, swallowing the rest of his pride. He exhaled, opening his eyes and approached the cot, dropping to his knees and gently resting his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He felt the man stiffen under his touch. 

“Arthur...I am so sorry - for everything. I should never have doubted you.” The man turned, eyes swollen and red, tearing his heart to shreds, “I’ve made a mess of everything. Please forgive me. I need you - everything I said when we rode to Lagras is still true.”

"It's not and I'm a fool for ever believin' a word that came from your mouth."

He needed forgiveness but Arthur was far too angry and hurt to bestow it. He continued kneeling beside Arthur's cot, paying no attention to the glances cast their way and not caring about the wet ground seeping soaking his knees.

"Do you remember our first time?" Arthur choked back a cough only for it to erupt into a fit of them; made worse by his sorrow, "You lied to me then too. I asked you about Hosea and you said -"

"Don't say his name," Dutch felt guilt flare up, mixing with the self hatred that was already pulling him down.

"That's pretty, Dutch. You gonna say the same 'bout me when I'm dead? You told me that had ended long ago - but that was a lie. I heard him confront you. He was sick and you were scared of losin' him so you took comfort in me - but you don’t love me like you did him. You can't even give me the courtesy to go fuck someone else and remain kind to me so I can die in peace. You just don’t care at all - you never did...and I...Well, I'm a God damn idiot because I still lo-"

A sob choked Arthur, sending him into another coughing fit.

"Arthur…" Arthur was right but he was equally wrong. He was terrified of losing Arthur. And he had emotionally distanced himself from Hosea when his illness became evident….and he was doing the same with Arthur. "I'm sorry for everything but it _will_ pass. You aren't dying. Can we talk about this away from camp?"

Another fit of cough and blood tinged spittal gave Dutch his answer. 

"It ain't gonna pass, _Dutch_. I went to a doctor...It's TB. From collecting debt from a stricken farmer for Strauss. The one you kept on me about back at Horseshoe."

The word stopped Dutch’s heart mid beat. When the shock wore off, he briefly squeezed Arthur’s knee, ignoring how quickly the man jerked away from him. He stood and walked toward the middle of camp, aware most of those remaining were awake and had been eavesdropping.

"Excuse me! Excuse me, everyone." Those remaining gathered around, desperate for some sliver of hope, "I...I have been a fool. I don’t deserve your loyalty or forgiveness but...Arthur, he does. He has done nothin' but provide for all of us and we have to make things right. We need to get somewhere warm and dry."

He looked out at the bunch of them, staring at him blankly with no faith left in anything he said. He clenched his fists, angry at himself for letting it all come to this. Everything he had been as a leader, as a man, was with Hosea's guidance. Without him, he was nothing. Without Arthur, he would be worse than even that; a hollow shell of a human composed of guilt and regret. 

"Javier, Charles. Figure out a way to get us past New Austin or into Mexico. I don't care as long as it's warm and dry. Ms. Grimshaw, start packing us up."

He didn't stick around to make sure they sat into motion, opting to hurry back to Arthur's side. He sat on the edge of the cot and took the man's hand, ignoring how it no longer settled comfortably into his, now tense and abrasive.

"That was a real pretty speech and all, Dutch. But we can't do nothin' and I know you'll get tired of that quick."

The words hurt and he understood why Arthur felt as such. 

"I suppose I'll just have to prove myself to you."

"Not much else to do."

"I'm sorry...Arthur...You're my protégé...everything I've wanted to create and leave in the world...I destroyed...I destroyed _you,_ my legacy, with greed and I...I am sorry."

"I'm only six years younger than you. Not much of a long living legacy even without the tuberculosis…" Arthur pulled himself into a sitting position to ease the coughing and mused over the romanticism the man was spewing. Dutch touched Arthur'sshiulder, sliding his hand up the back of his neck, his thumb massaging the base of his skull, sending a tingle through his scalp.

"I'll never get to kiss you or taste you again…"

"I didn’t know this was all about you."

Arthur chuckled but the anger in his voice was evident. He had already mourned all the things he would never do again. He had started mourning the intimacy they'd shared perhaps even before the tuberculosis. 

"It's not. You're right."

"I loved you, Dutch. I was nothin' but loyal. I hope you know that"

Arthur watched the older man nod and duck his head down. Dutch took Arthur's hand in both of his, rubbing his knucks, trying to focus on what he wanted to say without becoming overwhelmed with emotion.

"I know I have made many mistakes but you...Arthur...you was never one of 'em. I have apologized to Hosea...aloud and in my head at least a dozen times and God knows I loved that man but I love you too. I love you in so many ways. As my friend, my lover...I just...Love. You. Wholly...for everything you are. I'm sorry I haven't appreciated you as I should. But I will spend all the time we have left together showing you that. No more suspicion. No more guilt. No more shame. I am yours, Arthur Morgan."

Arthur froze when Dutch touched his cheek in plain view of the entire camp. The man didn’t flinch or look away when Arthur looked about the camp, a few people glanced in their direction but there were no obvious stares. They knew better. Tears found his eyes. This was what he had always wanted. He just had to die to get a brief taste of it.

He buried his face in Dutch’s lap, digging his fingers into the man's clothes and sobbing. And coughing. The infernal fucking coughing. Once again, Dutch didn't pull away or look to see if anyone was watching; he only stroked his hair and wiped tears from his cheeks. When he looked into his dark eyes, he saw the pain and remorse there.

"I...I'll get us West."


End file.
